


If I Look Back I Am Lost

by ExiledHearts



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExiledHearts/pseuds/ExiledHearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for A Storm of Swords: Daenerys and Jorah are forced to deal with the fallout of her discovery that he has betrayed her. Something made infinitely more difficult for them both when Jorah finds that leaving Meereen is not as easy as his queen might have it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost

Chapter 1  
Lost   
They had stood in a crowded room with people all around, pressing in to see the latest spectacle and hear her make a judgement on those she felt had betrayed her. He would rather they had been alone to discuss it quietly together, where he felt sure that he could convince her not to make the decision that he could see etched in her eyes. But she was the queen and she had spoken and it had been as she had intended. 

No-one had expected them to survive the near suicidal mission she had sent them on. Their efforts had proved crucial to the outcome of the battle and yet, they all had a feeling that the queen had sent them on their way with another hope lingering at the back of their mind and that their return had disappointed her.   
As the conversation between them had progressed he found himself ignoring the fact that they were surrounded by other people, no longer caring what they guessed or knew or suspected, they had melted in to insignificance around them as their words had sparked and born a blaze in the middle of the room, their arguments only serving to fan the vicious flames that destroyed everything to him but her. 

He could feel her slipping from him and desperately reached out with the only thing that he had left to give her, the words tumbling from him before he had considered the wisdom of uttering them in company, 

“Daenerys,” he had said, “I have loved you.” 

“The gods do nothing without a purpose they say. You did not die in battle,” she had told him, and behind those words, he had heard the wish that he had. Because it would have been easier on her. Easier on both of them. It would not have been as hard as what must now come. He believed that whatever gods there were had purpose too. He believed that their purpose was to be cruel, “so it must be that they still have some use for you.” She had said, and that purpose was clearly to suffer for his wrongs. He knew that now, “But I don’t.” He had expected this. After everything she had said it was too much to hope that she would not. Nevertheless, she may as well have taken Daario’s blade that he lovingly caressed throughout their exchange and stabbed him through the heart with it. That too would have been kinder. “I will not have you near me. You are banished, ser. Go back to your masters in King’s Landing and collect your pardon if you can.” He wanted to tell her that he had no masters but her. Master of his sword and master of his heart. He had nothing to go back to, nothing to go back for. All he had was her. And it seemed she knew that and would strip him of it anyway. “Or to Astapor.” She continued, forcing herself to go on, “No doubt the butcher king needs knights.” He did not want the butcher king. He wanted the Mother of Dragons. And that was exactly why he was in this position.   
“No.” He had reached out to her then, he had had to, he had not been able to stop himself “Daenerys, please, hear me...” He had not known what he would have her hear, he still did not if he was honest. But he could not leave her with those words ringing in both of their ears without making some sort of attempt to explain himself. 

She had slapped him away. She had spoken true, “Do not ever presume to touch me again, or to speak my name.” She had told him then. He could see the pain in her eyes. But whether it was pain at his betrayal or pain at how she was being forced to deal with it, he did not know. And the anger. The anger was the only reason she was able to go on. She was still speaking at this point, still condemning him, still pushing him away, “You have until dawn to collect your things and leave this city.” Her city. He had to leave her city. The city he had won for her. Worse. He had to leave her. “If you’re found in Meereen past break of day, I will have Strong Belwas twist your head off. I will. Believe that.” He did. He believed it. He had woken the dragon. And she could not be calmed. Not by him at least. She turned away from him and spat, “Remove this liar from my sight.” 

Belwas had taken him then and had made to drag him to the door. The faithful words he would always utter had stuck in his throat then, “As my Khaleesi commands.” He would do whatever she commanded, whether that be leave or stay, live or die, love or lose...She had made her choices. And he had only himself to blame for all of them. 

“The queen has a good heart.” He heard Daario purr as Belwas left him at the door. His blood boiled to hear him speaking to her in that way, saying words that had often fallen from his own lips, “but that one is more dangerous than all the Oznaks and Meros rolled up in one.” He could picture him so clearly. Fawning over her. His hands running over the blades he wore at his belt. His eyes running over her in a way that was inappropriate for any man to look at any woman in, never mind his liege lord...You may find out just how dangerous I am...He thought to himself, hands clenching, “You need not even say the word, my radiance. Only give the tiniest nod, and your Daario,” oh so he was hers now was he? But for how long? “Shall fetch you back his ugly head.” Let him try. He thought savagely, but then all the fire went from him as he waited to hear her reply, 

“Leave him be.” She had said, and he was not sure how he felt about that as his heart lifted and his stomach had contracted “The scales are balanced now. Let him go home.” She believed that she had freed him, as she had the Unsullied, that she had spared him death so that he might have what she believed that he wanted.   
He remembered, so long ago now, standing alone in her tent as she asked him, “What do you pray for, Ser Jorah?” 

“Home.” He had replied, 

That was where she was sending him now. Telling him that he was free to go. To accept the pardon he had burned all those weeks ago, allowed the hot ashes of his home to flutter through his fingers, turning his back on the only thing he had claimed to want in order to be with the only thing he could ever need. She believed that he had something else in the world beside her, when in truth, he had nothing. Would she be able to see him in what little he had described of his home to her? He could not imagine a place he was less likely to go to...

”We are done.” She had announced, and he had gone then.

Thinking back on it now, he could see where he had gone wrong and knew that it had begun long before he had entered that room. He realised now that she had expected him to die down in the sewers. That she had never thought he was coming back. She had wanted the gods to exact the judgement on him that she could not. They had failed her. As had he. 

And now she wanted him to go home. She thought that now they were even, that he could go home and try and find some kind of semblance of a life there for himself. She could not know that he did not have that choice. He had abandoned any hope of returning to Bear Island by anyone’s leave but hers. Unless Daenerys Targaryen sat upon the Iron Throne, Bear Island was closed to him. 

He could feel the hot ashes of the royal pardon he had burned being collected by a rippling breeze and carried away from his fingers, taking away the only hope at home he had been given in years. 

He found himself burdened by a desperate longing for his home. Bear Island had always been, and always would be, his home, no matter the amount of time he had spent across the Narrow Sea, he always wished to return. He had once told Daenerys that Bear Island was ‘rich in trees and bears and aught else’ and realised now that he had made it sound like some sparse wilderness that the civilised world had forgotten about but that was all he had ever wanted and all he had ever desired. He had never desired to sit on a Throne, to be called King and to have the power and wealth that came with that. 

Now he would give all of the gold in Casterly Rock just to be able to return to his Bear Island...

There had only been one reason he would ever leave his home, Lynesse.

From the first few weeks that they had spent on the Island, he had known from the start that it could only end in tragedy. That she was not made that way. She had never been comfortable there and neither had he. He had spent every day waiting for her to leave. And eventually they had been forced to. He had abaonded his home for her, and she in turn had abandoned him and left him with little more than nothing. 

When he had sworn to serve Daenerys, that had been the first time he had felt settled and comfortable since leaving Bear Island. He had never belonged in the Free Cities, but he thought that he belonged with her, that he would always be by her side. He had pledged himself to Daenerys, to his Queen, to his Khaleesi; he had been the first of her Queensguard and had sworn to protect her for the rest of their lives. He had committed himself to her for the rest of his life. What she had not known was that he had sworn his heart to her that day as well as his sword.

He suddenly felt pity for Barristan Selmy. He had sworn to live out the rest of his days as a loyal member of the Kingsguard, presumably safe in the knowledge that he would only be released from those oaths by his death. He had thought that he had known what the gods had planned for the rest of his life. That had been casually ripped from him. Almost as casually as he had thrown him to Daenerys. He had been more than quick to tell her the truth of the matter, without so much as waiting to hear what he had to say, he had been eager. He found that his pity ran out then...

It had not taken him long to gather together what meagre belongings he possessed. It was almost sad actually, to see his life reduced to this. He had few ‘souvenir’s of his life back in Westeros, his family had banished him as quickly as Daenerys had and, ironically enough, for similar reasons...Betrayal...A bitter poison, for both the betrayed and the betrayer. 

He should have left hours ago. If the dawn came and he was not gone he had the promise of Belwas’ meaty hands wrapped around his throat. He found that he did not care. He had sworn himself to her. To protect her. To die for her. To obey her every command without question. But now he found the desire to betray her now. It would mean whatever shreds of honour he could claim to have left and most probably his head. He didn’t care about that either. He had wanted her to hear him. And he was determined that she would. Whatever the price. 

***

She pushed her way out of the room, sickened by the heat. She was dressed in a light, soft silk dress. She rarely favoured these kinds of clothes, not since she had left Ilyrio with Viserys to be Khal Drogo’s wife. It seemed like a thousand years ago. But still. It was hot, to say the least, even in the darkness. The dawn would soon be upon them and it would bring with it the baking sun and the need to dress a little more appropriately than she currently was. She was alone now. She was the Khaleesi, she could wear whatever she chose and right now, she chose to wear something that was comfortable. 

She considered the rising sun and what it meant. The dawn might bring her the promise of a new day but there was something that it would not bring. Jorah. Her exile knight. He had been there from the beginning .Had followed her from when she had first been that timid and terrified little girl trapped in her brother’s shadow, to marrying Khal Drogo and being his wife, to falling in love with him and becoming his Khaleesi, bearing his child, losing his child and losing him as well, to becoming Queen, Mother of Dragons and now mother of all of the people she had freed. He had been with her through it all, but now he was gone. Gone because she had sent him away. 

She cursed herself for those thoughts. What choice had she had? Yes, he had served her loyally, but he had sold her out, he had informed on her, he had threatened the life of her and her unborn child. She could not forgive that. No matter how many times he had saved her, the good a man did could not erase the bad and this bad was unforgiveable.   
But however much she told herself, the more that notion seemed to slip away from her. She missed him. She wanted him by her side. For all of her confused feelings about him, and his rather obvious feelings about her, she had respected and trusted his counsel. 

That was before I found out what he was. She reminded herself. Now she questioned every piece of advice he had given her. 

That did not help either however. They all seemed to point to the truth of what he had told her. That he had been trying to protect her. It had been good advice. She had depended on it. 

And yet, now that she thought and now that she knew, it had been tainted by more than betrayal. It had been tainted by love. He had loved her, that much was true, but that had led to an almost paranoid protection. He would have had her distance herself from anyone new, he would not allow her to take the risk of finding out whether or not they were friend or foe preferring to have her stay away, to name them an enemy before she ever saw their face, to make it so that he was her only advisor, the only one she trusted. She had known why. And now she knew why she had been right to push for more than him. Because she no longer had him. 

She gave herself a little shake, not wanting to dwell on that. He was gone. He was not coming back. It was done. 

“Hear me....” his words reverberated in her skull. It was the only thing she regretted about their meeting. That she had not given him the chance to be heard. She wished now that she had.

It is done. She reminded herself forcefully. Done. If I look back I am lost. Never before had she been so tempted to stray behind however. 

She felt a faint tugging at the hem of her dress that had been persistent for a few minutes and that she had ignored, lost in thought, but that now became so insistent that it threatened to tear the thin fabric, she looked down, almost in irritation, but her feelings softened as she beheld Viserion, nipping playfully at her dress.   
She knelt down and rubbed the smooth scales under his neck. He wriggled in pleasure, the same way she had seen him doing when he basked out in the sun and a smile was brought to her lips along with a sudden desire to free herself from the weary constraints of the room. 

She had stepped out on to the terrace earlier, unable to sleep, and had met with Barristan Selmy. She had sent him back inside and stood out for a few more minutes before he had insisted that, for her own safety, she had best return.   
Now she felt a strange desire to return to the terrace. 

“Coming?” she asked the dragon by her feet. He nipped at them, which she took for agreement and began to make her way up the stairs. 

“My lady,” Selmy was upon her. He seemed intent on documenting her every breath and had rarely left her from his sight since the Meros incident, “I shall accompany you, you should not go anywhere alone.” 

She noted that he had not asked to go with her but had informed her that he was coming with her. She bristled at that. 

“I thank you ser,” she told him, as courteously as she could, “But it is my wish to be alone just now.” 

“I must insist-“he began. She knew he meant well but she could not suffer the claustrophobia that had descended over her, 

“I must insist more strongly ser.” She told him flatly, shaking her head irritably, 

“My Queen you have many enemies-“he pushed persistently, 

“And am unlikely to make any more alone on the roof terrace.” She told him firmly, 

“No,” he agreed, “But the ones that you have may well seize the chance to attack you.”

“Would you follow me everywhere I go for the rest of my life ser?” she demanded hotly, “That cannot be allowed to happen. A queen who surrounds herself with no-one is just as vulnerable as a queen who is never left alone. I need my freedom ser and I am no longer asking you to remain.”

With that, she turned, Viserion at her heels, and stalked up the stairs, leaving the somewhat shocked knight at the bottom of the stairs. 

She stepped out on to the terrace and inhaled deeply, bracing her hands on the thick concrete wall, smiling as Viserion took off in a flurry of wings and fluttered lazily over the city, silhouetted against the rising sun. She watched him and felt that she was able to breathe for the first time in too long. A small smile graced her features. 

“Khaleesi.” 

 

The voice behind her made her jump and turn and she almost shouted out for Selmy, cursing herself for not accepting his protection but the cry was lost in her throat as she saw the owner of the voice and felt shock claim her own... 

***

He watched her step out on to the terrace, as he had known she would and felt content for the first time since she had dismissed him. He was glad now that he had done this. Whatever happened, he would not regret this decision. 

The sight of Viserion snapping playfully at her heels threw him for a moment. He expected that the dragon would give him away but while he glanced towards him, he did nothing to warn the woman by his side, instead throwing himself into the air and performing a lazy corkscrew for her entertainment.   
He watched her lean out over the wall, draping herself across it and drinking in her city. She looked especially beautiful tonight, if a little strained. The dress she had worn was a light powder blue silk that drenched her and covered her figure without drowning it, framing her whenever she moved but concealing the true beauty he knew lingered beneath it whenever she stood still as she did now. 

The wind caught and lifted her light silver- blond tresses and cast them skyward, causing them to float around in a gentle halo around her head as she stood, the ghost of a smile coating her lips as she stood and watched the playful dragon hover above the city.   
He would have liked to stand and let her be for longer but he knew that his time was precious, that he had little enough chance as it was and that the longer he stood there the likelier it became that the insufferable shadow Selmy would make an appearance.   
Instead, he stepped out of the shadows and murmured softly, 

“Khaleesi....”


	2. Here I Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorah makes a decision that could mean his life and confronts Daenerys, begging her to listen to him. But alone on a roof-top in Meereen with her, will she take the opportunity to hear his side of the story or will he wake the dragon for the last time?

                                                                                                                                                    **Chapter 2**

  
                                                                                                                                                   Here I Stand...

  
She had shivered at the sound of his voice.

  
She had frozen when she had realised that her ears had not lied and that it was actually him, something her eyes confirmed as she turned in a flurry of skirts.

  
He stood in front of her, looking more lost than she had ever believed of him, someone who had always appeared to her so confident, so assured, someone who always knew what he wanted, who always had good advice, who always had a plan for her. Now he had stumbled in to darkness and he had no plan for finding a way out.

  
In that instant, she had no idea what he was going to do to her, kiss her or attack her or scream at her or declare his love for her all over again. In fact, he did none of those things; he simply stood and watched her, respectfully waiting for her to make the first move. He left the situation dangling on a frayed string above a garden of knives waiting for the ghostly whisper of a breeze to destroy everything.

  
Nothing happened.

  
Unfortunately, she did not know what she wanted to do anymore than she knew what he wanted to do.

  
All manner of things came in to her mind, shouting at him, shouting for Ser Barristan, throwing herself at him herself and pounding her fists against his chest and asking him why and asking him how he could have done this to her, calling for Viserion, or, for one terrifying moment, kissing him.

  
She could not do any of the things that came in to her mind and so for a silent moment, both of them simply stood staring at one another, forcing their eyes to speak for them as the words turned to dust in their throats and their lips froze solid.

  
“Jorah.” She breathed finally, her voice cracking as though she had not used it in years, eyes never leaving his filled with the questions that were clogging her throat and making it impossible to put them in to words.

  
So many emotions ripped through her now that she could not keep track of them all but the one that lingered was anger. The hot fire that burned in her veins began to boil her blood, filling her with a raging passion that she could feel hissing and spitting in her veins and she fought to control it.

  
“I told you to go.” She told him coldly, hands curling in to fists, eyes flashing, feeling her body tremble as she attempted to control the dragon that was stirring behind her eyes.  
She did not know why she offered him the liberty of standing there, of defying her, rather than just calling for Selmy, but somehow, she could not. She would not.

  
“You did.” He agreed softly, “And yet here I stand...”

  
“Here you stand.” She repeated, the wind still catching her hair and casting it around her face in a furious storm of silver clouds as she stared at him, “I told you what would happen if you were found in Meereen.” She said coarsely, eyes flashing, “And here I find you.”

  
“Yes, here you find me.” He murmured, tiring of the repetitive game they were slipping in to.

  
He made to take a step towards her but seemed to think better of it and held his place, albeit swaying back and forth on the spot, forcing himself to remain, “But before you start twisting heads from necks, I would beg that now you hear me.”

  
“And why would I do that ser?” she demanded harshly, drawing herself up and feeling the silk skirts swirl around her as well, “We are both convinced of your crimes, you have not denied them-“

  
“I deny them now Khaleesi.” He told her softly.

  
It seemed that the angrier she became, the more cowed he became in response.

  
“You deny betraying me?” she spat, not having believed that he would stoop so low, “You tell me now that news of what was happening to me here was simply guessed by the usurper and those who served him? Do you take me for a child? A fool?”

  
“No more, Khaleesi...” he replied quietly,

  
“No more?” she demanded, the dragon dancing within her furious eyes now, “What is that supposed to mean, ser?” she did not give him a chance to reply, “I took you for a betrayer, and a liar,” she snapped, “But I had not taken you for a craven.”

  
“Nor had I Khaleesi.” He replied meekly, whatever she said, it was never enough to provoke him, he would not allow it to provoke him, not now,  
“You betrayed me Jorah.” She told him, voice dropping, becoming strained and hushed, “You betrayed me.” She told him, the tears she had sworn she would not shed before gathering as she remembered her feelings then and they combined with the feelings she had now and threatened to overwhelm her but she would not allow it. Whatever happened she would not, “Nothing will change that,” she pressed on, seeing his eyes darken sadly as he glanced away from her for a moment, “I asked you to tell me true and you did, you told me the truth of it, I saw it in your eyes and now you come here, defying me, only to insult me with words I know to be false? Why are you doing this Jorah? Your lies will not help you now.”

  
“I do not expect lies to help me now my Queen.” He told her softly,

  
“I am no longer your Queen.” She told him harshly, voice seeming to catch and choke on each word as she spat them out, “You gave up that right when you gave up my secrets to the usurper, when you betrayed me.” She punctuated the last word with a sharp blow to his chest.

  
He had removed his plate armour and had only a thin, cheesecloth shirt on meaning that her fists struck bare flesh finding it burning and feverish beneath her fingers.  
He gently took her wrists as she continued to slam her hands against him, pushing her back as she continued to throw herself at him, holding her still and preventing her furious assault on him. He released her as soon as she pulled away from him. Cautiously allowing his fingers to hover over her skin, waiting to see what she would do next.  
She withdrew from him, furious. Unable to think of anything else to say her anger and her pain at his betrayal flooding her.

  
“Can you betray something you do not know?” he asked quietly, barely moving his lips, watching her carefully,

  
“Do not speak to me in riddles.” She told him, turning away, livid, murmuring, almost more to herself than to him, “I told you that you would not speak to me at all.”  
“Then why is my head still on my shoulders and not in the hand of Strong Belwas as you promised?” he asked daringly, taking a step towards her even as she stepped away,  
“I do not know.” She told him coldly, a strange edge to her voice, eyes darting to meet his for a moment before flicking away from him, uncertain, “You make a good point there ser, perhaps I should simply call for Ser Barristan Selmy and have you taken away and end my troubles.” She suggested pointedly,  
“Perhaps you should-“he began quietly.

  
It was then she realised that he did not care. That he had decided to come here and speak with her, not because he did not believe that she would make good on her promise to have him killed, but because he expected her to make good on that promise and that he would rather say what he felt needed to be said and then hang her consequences. Before she could make any sort of decision as to that however, Viserion landed on the terrace once more, returning from his lazy circles over the city, drawn no doubt by her angry words towards the knight.

  
She watched Jorah flinch, his hand flicking for a moment towards the pommel of his sword, however his hand only brushed lightly over the hilt and he did not draw it, hand falling limply to his side once more, though his eyes never left the white and gold dragon that stalked quietly towards them.  
Dany reached out towards him and allowed her fingers to lightly brush over his scales, feeling a little calmer for the dragon’s presence. She watched curiously as the dragon slithered from her side and approached ser Jorah.

  
She did not know what she had expected of the dragon truly but she was still surprised by what he did. He moved towards Jorah, the knight stood still, never flinching as the dragon approached, they both watched as he nibbled at the hem of his cloak, brushing against his hand before retreating to the wall and standing between them, his small, triangular head looking from one to the other of them.

  
Dany stared at the dragon, only recalled to her senses as Jorah murmured, half surprised, half amused, “It seems he has chosen not to take sides.”  
Viserion snorted in agreement.

  
“It seems he would have me hear you out.” She murmured quietly. It was something she had been wishing she had done herself but had been too angry to heed this, she was glad therefore that the dragon had recalled her to her senses.

  
“Is that what you would have, Khaleesi?” he asked her softly,

  
She hesitated, her eyes searching his voice before she nodded stiffly and said, “Yes. Speak, but speak true ser, I will not have any more lies wasted on me this day.”  
“And nor shall you.” He told her, not insulting her by swearing on his honour as a knight, knowing that as far as she was concerned, he had no honour left to swear upon. “Though nor have you.”

  
“I warned you-“she snarled, irritated by his insistence now and wondering why he kept insisting upon this,

  
“You did, but you also said that you would hear me.” He reminded her quietly, “I informed upon you, yes, I do not deny it, I never did, but I do not believe that I betrayed you.”  
“How can that be?” she asked, eyes flashing, “The two go hand-in-hand, you betrayed me when you informed on me.” She told him bluntly, not wanting to play any games with him,

  
“I betrayed Daenerys Targaryen.” He told her quietly, “The child I met Pentos, trapped in her brother’s shadow and her own insecurity. I did not betray Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons...” he told her firmly,

  
“You can call it what you will and twist the tale however you like, I have no time for your games ser, your wordplay does not change anything.”

  
“It is not only wordplay Khaleesi,” he told her, “Is it not true that you are not the same person you were in Pentos?”

  
“It is true.” She said, it could not be anything other than true. She barely recognised the young girl who had left the protection of Ilyrio Mopatis what felt like a thousand years ago. Still...”It does not change what you did.”

  
“No, it does not.” He told her quietly, “But neither is it reason for you to banish me.”

  
Her anger flared at that, “I think that it is more than enough reason to banish you. I was your Khaleesi, your Queen, your liege lord. I bid you go. And gone is where you should be.”

  
“Gone is where I should be,” he confirmed, “But gone is the one place I could not be, because I have nowhere left to go.”

  
“Your masters whom you informed to would gladly have you back in exchange for what you could tell them I am sure.” She told him stiffly, realising now that she should probably have killed him for her own protection, as much as for his crimes,

  
“The only master I now serve stands before me on a lonely roof terrace in Meereen with a dragon guarding her.” Mormont told her in a voice barely above a whisper, “I pledged you my sword and my shield, I swore to die defending you and I stand by every last breath of those vows.”

  
“You also swore to obey me.” She told him, voice shaking slightly, “And yet you are still here.”

  
“I am. Because I could not leave. No matter what you did to me Daenerys, I had sworn to myself that I would have you hear what I wished to say before my death. I would rather die now, having told you, than live on under some rock and never have you know.”

  
“Never have me know the riddle you spun me?” she demanded, “That all you had to offer me was that you betrayed the person I was but that that did not carry through to the person I had become? I deserve more than that from you Jorah, surely.” She spat,

  
“Yes, you do Khaleesi, but it is all I have to offer you.” He told her meekly, “You have changed from Pentos, why can it not be said that I too have changed?” he asked. She had no answer for him and simply sat, staring as he continued, “I have changed Daenerys, and whether you wish to hear it or not, I have changed because of you. I am not the same man you met and neither would I return to him. That man betrayed you because he did not know you, because you were nothing to him. This one has sworn to protect you with his dying breath because you are everything to him.”

  
She paused, struck, watching him with a guarded expression. Her eyes flicked towards Viserion who pointedly curled up on the wall as the sun’s rays began to wash over him, his tail drooping lazily over the edge, tickling the flaking reddish-pink paint on the other side of the wall.

  
She turned back to him, jaw set and then turned and sat, back against the wall, underneath Viserion, purple eyes still set on Jorah.

  
“Sit ser,” he told him quietly,

  
He did as she bid, awkwardly sitting down on the cool tiles beside her, the wind still catching her hair and causing it to whisper against his skin.  
“I would have your tale ser Jorah, from when you first entered my service. Leave nothing out, I would know everything, and I would know it truly.”

  
“Then you shall know it my lady.” He told her. He paused, leaning against the wall and glancing out at the city beyond and drew a deep breath before saying, “As you know, I was exiled from Westeros for selling men as slaves, an action forbidden in the Seven Kingdoms. I was sentenced to death, though offered my life in exchange for joining my father in the Night’s Watch...Neither options appealed to me I will admit. I was still in love with my wife, Lysenne, and I was blinded by the desperate desire I had for happiness, thinking that as long as we had each other, everything would work out for the best. I hoped that she would be happy away from Bear Island, a place that I knew I had no choice but to leave. I fled with her to Lys and tried to make her happy...It seemed that it was not to be...A path I had known from the beginning but had fought to avoid followed me across the sea, proving impossible to escape. Maybe once she loved me, I do not know, but she left me then and it was clear she no longer had any feelings for me.” His voice was bitter as it trailed away, looking him shifting and uncomfortable, staring out over the city, lost in the painful flood of memories that swallowed him,  
He paused there and Dany found herself surprised, he was usually direct and to the point but she found now that there was something of a storyteller trapped within him and she wanted him to go on,

  
“I found myself in a strange land with no money, no lands, no titles and no wife. No purpose.” He began again, “I became a mercenary, willing to lend my sword to whoever needed it and whoever could pay for it. After some time, I fell in with the Dothraki and they accepted me and allowed me to travel with them. Although throughout, I wished to return to my home of Bear Island, a dream I cursed for being a fancy as it was surely impossible.” He paused again there and drew a deep breath; his measured pace becoming slower and sadder, “Everything changed when I met Viserys Targaryen.” He said with a deep sigh, “He took me in to his service and gained me more employment than he knew...”  
Dany knew as well. It must have been then that he had been approached to service as the spy for the usurper, and then he had accepted. Still, she let him tell it in his own way, noting that he had become increasingly uncomfortable the deeper in to this tale he went.

  
“As you will learn whenever you come to Westeros, the Game of Thrones is won not only by swords and gold and the fickle loyalties of bannermen; it is won with secrets.” He paused, seemingly to compose himself but she suspected there was a dash of showmanship in there as well, “Did anyone ever tell you that knowledge is power?”  
“Viserys did,” she told him, “Almost. But he told it in another way,” she said, “He told me that weak people believed that knowledge was power because they would never be able to have anything else, but we would know differently because the strong knew that power was power.”

  
Jorah snorted derisively at this and said, “That sounds like Viserys. You can have all the power you like but you will only remain strong if you can hold on to it. And for that, you need the knowledge and to know anything in King’s Landing, you will need to know secrets. Secrets that are more valuable than all of the gold at Casterly Rock and more powerful than an army of forty thousand Dothraki screamers...”

  
“And you were asked to sell them secrets?” she asked quietly, fighting to keep her voice level, “About me.”

  
“At the time, it was Viserys they wanted information on, but yes, I was.” He hesitated there before launching quickly in to his words, stumbling through them, “It shames me to say it now but at the time, I thought that it was what I wanted. I knew nothing of you at all and from what I had seen of Viserys, I was not too hesitant in selling him out to prevent him from gaining the Iron Throne. And they told me...They told me...” he paused again, voice shaking as he looked away from her, “Lord Varys is the King’s secret keeper. The Spider they call him at King’s Landing. He has the unfortunate habit of knowing people’s secrets, but more than that, he knows people, and he knows how to extract their secrets...He told me that if I did this for them I...I would be given a royal pardon, and allowed to go home...”

  
“Viserys had promised you much the same thing.” Dany told him coldly,

  
“You’ll forgive me Khaleesi, I did not believe, and I do not think that you truly did either, that Viserys was capable of taking us home.”  
“No...” she murmured. She knew it now. There had been times when she had loved Viserys, and had looked up to him but those times were gone. She was not a little girl anymore; she was the Mother of Dragons, a Khaleesi and a rightful Queen. She knew that in this at least, Ser Jorah spoke the truth, Viserys had been as capable of fighting his way to the Iron Throne as he had been of turning himself in to a dragon.

  
“Even so, you must know however, that while I did as they asked, I took no pleasure in it and told them as little as I could and only when Varys sent for me...” he told her. There was no earnest in his voice, no desperate push to force her in to believing him, it was a cold, flat truth and she believed it as surely as she believed that Viserys had never had a hope of sitting upon the Iron Throne.

  
“I know.” She found herself saying, even though she wasn’t sure. Though she believed that he would not have taken any pleasure in doing that, however much or little he had cared for her or Viserys.

  
He paused again, clearly not having expected that response from her and struggled for a moment to regain his footing within the conversation,

  
“I made reports as often as I could while we travelled.” He told her softly, “Or rather, as often as Varys asked for them...”

  
“Tell me about Quarth.” She said coldly, she had not forgotten that little detail and nor did she intend to let him forget either. She had hoped, prayed even, that after it had been shown that he had been informing on her, something she had tried to reject from the outset, she had wished that he had stopped reporting earlier than that,  
“Was a mistake on my part I will admit, and one that almost cost you dearly.” He told her, shaking his head, “I can only offer you my humblest apologies for that Khaleesi...”  
“Apologies will not undo what you have done ser,” she told him sharply, “Neither will they convince me that that was a mistake,”

  
“I-“he began uncertainly,

  
“You told them that I was carrying Drogo’s child which, I know, will have made me an immediate target for the usurper, you cannot tell me that you accidentally wrote that down, attached it to a bird and sent it off to this Spider in King’s Landing?” she asked in a tone that firmly reminded him she had warned him not to lie to her,

  
“I was...Uncertain at the time of that report.” He began unsteadily, choosing his words carefully, weighing each one as though it were his last which, from the look on her face, it may well have been, “I was beginning to see promise in you Daenerys, something I had not seen in Viserys, or indeed in Robert Baratheon. I was beginning to think that perhaps you would return me to Bear Island and that I would no longer have to play the Spider’s twisted games that I had so grown to despise. Still, I could not be sure. You were, to the outside eye at least, only a child and I did not know...” he paused a moment to see if she wished to intervene, as it happened she did not. Whether he was telling it true or spinning her a lie it was both convincing and compelling and she had no wish for him to stop, he resumed once more, smoothly continuing from where he had left off,  
“Despite my uncertainty, it had been enough for me to ignore the last few requests Varys sent me. I hadn’t sent him anything in almost a month when he got a message to me. Unlike most of his other messages, that had been bordering on desperate at times, this one was calm and specific. Rather than asking me to update him on the movements of the khalasar he flatly asked me if you were with child...”

  
“Why didn’t you flatly deny it?” she asked sleekly, watching him out of the corner of her eye,

  
He leant forwards, considering how best to phrase his answer, long, thick fingers worrying at the thin laces of his boots before he told her quietly,  
“Varys has little birds everywhere. Because of the sudden silence I was presenting with I had been sure that his next message would contain an ultimatum from his superiors, forcing me to choose a side. This surprised me. I was fairly certain that I had chosen a side, yours, but I have long been a cautious man, preferring to know where my exists are whenever I enter a room. I knew that depending on how I answered his next message would depend on which side I chose and which side I stayed on, if truth be told, I would have preferred to overtly choose neither side, to sit and wait and bide my time. This gave me the opportunity.”

  
“I fail to see how you feeding information to them that led to an attempt on my life, and that of my unborn son’s, can be seen as not choosing a side.”

  
“I thought it was a test.” He explained, a trace of bitterness colouring his words, “I thought that Varys was asking me to confirm or deny something that he already knew. He was proving my worth by asking for something that he already had. I thought that by giving it to him I would not be doing anything to harm you as he already knew and that, if the tables turned unexpectedly here, I would still have remained neutral enough to avoid persecution by King’s Landing.”

  
His reasoning made sense to her, she could not blame him for any of it, thinking that she would have done the same thing in his position...And yet...  
“I discovered later that it had been a bit of clever guesswork from Varys and a trap that I had walked in to...” he told her sadly, voice trailing away to almost nothing as he spoke,  
“It seems to me as though your masters at King’s Landing would be pleased to take you back.” Daenerys told him icily, simply cutting cords was not enough to make up for the damage he had done, inadvertently or not,

  
“They may well have been.” He agreed amicably, “But not anymore I think...”

  
“Why?” she asked, tone caught between curiosity and suspicion, “What did you do?”

  
“I chose a side, Khaleesi.” He told her quietly, “I realised that I had been fooled by Varys. When next I received a message from him it was shortly after Drogo’s death. We had arrived in Qarth then but I wrote to Varys and told him that you had been headed somewhere very different...” he paused a moment as she waited to see what he had told them, he drew a short breath and said simply, “I told him that, following the death of your sun and stars Khal Drogo and the loss of your first child, Rhaego, that you had been overcome with grief and had taken your own life.”

  
“When in fact I did nothing of the sort.” She murmured quietly, meeting his eyes for the first time,

  
“Rather than dying I would say you were reborn from the ashes...” Jorah told her quietly, watching her carefully as she shifted slightly, “No doubt they know now that what I told them was false. But I’d say I fooled them for a time...No doubt Varys wants me skinned for that. He does so pride himself on his little birds...I doubt that it reached any ears of note. Information like that, Varys would have been forced to confirm it, but it bought you time and made the waters uncharted to say the least..” he trailed off quietly, fingers still busying themselves at his laces,

  
“But it meant that you had forsaken your claim to any royal pardon...” Dany murmured quietly, understanding his grim reluctance to leave her service now, He truly has nowhere else to go...She thought, forcing herself not to look at him in case he saw that in her eyes,

  
“No...”He said quietly, “My ‘masters’ at King’s Landing would not have me back now...”

  
“And neither will I.” She told him flatly, shaking her head and turning away from him, a single tear sliding from her eye, something that she quickly wiped away under cover of the wind whipping her hair around her face once more so as to ensure that he could only hear the steel in her voice and not the weakness in her eyes.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! I was a little unsure about this chapter, the dialogue was quite hard to do and I hope that it was all in character. If you can, please let me know!


	3. Reflections of Fire

Chapter 3  
Reflections of Fire  
“Daenerys...”he began, stumbling slightly, still thrown by her last remark, “I know that I have wronged you in the past but-“   
“It has nothing to do with this ser...” she told him softly, fingers tracing delicately through the laces of her dress, “I believe that what you did you regret and I do not believe that you would do so again.” He had convinced her, as she had known he would. She had ever intended to give him that chance but he must have known it too because he had made one. And now he was only making it harder for her to do what she had to.   
“We both know that is not what I meant...” he told her gently,   
“We do...” she said, not making eye contact with him, a lock of her thin, silver hair falling down over her eyes as she dipped her head.  
“It was wrong of me,” he told her hoarsely, “We both know that as well.” She nodded in agreement but still could not bring herself to look at him, knowing what she would find in his eyes and scared by what he might see reflected back in hers, “I will not pretend otherwise. But there is nothing I can do to change how I feel about you, only how I act around you.” He paused a moment, willing her to look at him. When she did not oblige, he pressed on valiantly, “I should never have kissed you.” He confessed softly,  
“And yet, at the time, I told you I wished that I had done it sooner. I did. I still do. I have spent too long denying myself things and hiding away and eventually letting them slip through my fingers. I told myself that I would not let that happen with you...I never intended for this to happen Daenerys, you must believe that of me...” he waited again as her deep purple eyes kissed up to his gaze once more, quiet emotion burning within them as he watched, waiting for him to continue, both wanting to know what he would say and afraid of what he might tell her. He hesitated a moment before realising that he had come too far to back out now,  
“Someone told me once that love was a fickle thing. At the time, I did not truly understand what he meant but it seems to me now that in my lifetime it has been both fickle and cruel...I have learned that if you do not hold on tight enough, it will slip away from you, as surely as sand through fingers; but if you hold on too tightly, then you will crush it, like a bird held in your hands...I have known both of these things Daenerys and neither I would wish upon any man...” a new sadness had bloomed in the depths of her eyes and she turned away again, looking out over the high pink wall that surrounded them, the deep, sultry red rays of the sun sliding above the horizon calling forth a new day from the darkness. She did not know why he was telling her this, any more than he did and yet, he seemed to feel compelled to fill the silence her uncertainty left behind,   
“I should never have put you in that position, I know that...And for it, you have my humblest apologies...”he paused a moment before confessing in a hushed whisper, “But not my regrets...”  
She looked up at him then, eyes searching as she asked, “You are not...Sorry?” she wasn’t sure if she was either and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be. Too much about Ser Jorah Mormont left her unsure. Unsure of what she wanted and unsure of what she should do. She knew what she was supposed to do, what the world expected her to do and what the easiest thing to do would be...But sometimes the easiest path was not always the right one. Viserys had taught her that if nothing else. Yet the hard path could sometimes be fraught with danger as a warning and she could not tell if the barbs along this path belonged to a rose’s thorns or a catspaw’s dagger...  
“Sorry?” he asked with a bitter laugh, “I am sorry for many things Daenerys...” he had begun so boldly but faded away and remained as such for so long that she wondered if he would ever speak again. She had almost given up hope when he said softly, “But I am not sorry for kissing you that night...I am sorry for what came of it to be sure but....”He trailed away again. Struggling to read her expression, something that she was not sure she could read herself at the minute, he added hopelessly, “I should never have fallen for you Daenerys, I should never have allowed myself to fall for you. But whatever gods there are and whoever they belong to have much to answer for, for they are cruel when it comes to the games they play with men. I wish truly that I did not feel these for you, everything would have been so much simpler, but I do. My only wish now is that I had not burdened you with them as well, it was never my intention. I should have know that you could never have loved me-“   
“I could...” she whispered, in a voice so faint that for a moment, both of them were unsure if she had uttered it.   
As he sat in shock, staring at her, a deep emotion stirring in his dark eyes, it became clear that he was not going to fill the gaping silence that had been left in the wake of her words and so that difficult task would now fall to her.   
She flushed darkly and looked away from him, eyelids fluttering nervously as she attempted to explain words she had not even been conscious of loosing from her lips. She felt a child again, slipping back to the frightened little girl that had left Pentos, inexperienced and unsure.   
No... She told herself firmly, I am the blood of the dragon. Dragons do not run from bears...She could hear the faint whisperings of Jorah murmuring to her, Perhaps they should run to them....  
She had never expected to find herself attracted to Jorah Mormont. She never had. He was nothing like Drogo, her sun-and-stars, or even like Daario Naharis. Both men projected power in volumes, confidence, bordering on arrogance, never defeated, never doubting, pure strength and certainty. Jorah was strong, of that she had no doubt, but she had found something more in him than she had in the animalistic desire that had fuelled her lust for Daario and her eventual love of Drogo.   
Safety.   
She had felt safe with him. She had trusted him completely and not only with her life but with her secrets and with her gentle heart. The one that he so often accused her of possessing she could find in his eyes when they beheld her. She had no doubt of where his loyalties lay when he looked on her with those eyes, no doubt of how he felt. No doubt that she would always be his cub, that he would do whatever it took to keep her safe, that he would die for her without a thought if only it meant that she might live.   
And she had found that while she may not desire Jorah Mormont. That did not mean she could not want him. And it did not mean that she could not love him.   
“No.” She said firmly, startling Jorah and Viserion with her sudden outburst. Both looked questioningly at her and she found herself flushing again and becoming irritated with herself as a result.   
“I just...” she found herself reaching out to him, her soft fingers brushing over the rough, course skin of his hands and drawing his startled eyes to her, “I could love you Jorah...” she murmured quietly, thick, purple eyes gently meeting his, “But I can’t...” he glanced away from her, hand twitching though he did not insult her by pulling it away completely, “Don’t misunderstand me,” she told him quietly, “It’s not that I can’t because of who or what you are, I can’t because I can’t let myself...” she wasn’t sure where all of this was coming from, she knew that it was true but she was only realising now how much she had suppressed herself now that she allowed the words she had hidden from everyone, including herself to come forth now.   
More than just her words though, but the intention behind them revealed her thoughts. She had suppressed these thoughts for so long but found that they came pouring from her in her attempt to make him understand, to offer him some sort of comfort now that they were alone and she could be open with him for the first time in too long.   
“I am a queen.” She told him firmly, “I am your queen...I could not allow myself to think of you in that way because-“   
“A queen belongs not to herself but to her people.” he finished softly, glancing up at her,   
“Yes...” she said, surprised at the simple elegance of that statement, finding the truth ringing in every syllable, “You know that.” She told him, realising that he had always known, perhaps even before she did, and wondered how that knowledge must have wounded him, and how much her next words were about to, “Then you know why I have to ask you to go...”   
That caught him unawares, “Khaleesi, I...Have I not served you well? Have I not given you good counsel?” he asked, eyes widening,   
“You have.” She said, not having intended that to be the issue but deciding to address it since they had arrived at it anyway, “But yours was the only counsel you ever wanted me to take.” He paused there, thrown for a moment, “Is that not so, ser?” she pressed, raising an eyebrow, the deep purple pools of her eyes seeming to swallow him as she stared into him,   
He hesitated at that, considering, thinking of the best way to reply before he ventured, “It is true that I asked you take no other counsel,” he told her quietly, speaking slowly now, weighing every word, “That I wished to protect you, that I wished to keep others from you, but not for the reasons that you think.”   
“Pray tell, what are the reasons that I think ser?” she asked softly, watching him carefully,   
“Jealousy.” He told her softly, hitting straight to the heart of the matter as he so often did, “You believed, did you not, that I would have you kept away from these other men, in case you fell for one of them, when I would have you fall for me?” she hesitated a moment and he pressed her gently to keep the conversation moving, “Is it not so?”  
“It is so.” She agreed in a voice barely above a whisper, “And yet, you claim that it was not?”   
“I do Khaleesi.” He rumbled softly, “I have lived a long hard life, three of yours, we both know...” He began quietly, “I have never been the most trusting I regret to say, and anytime I was it cost me dearly. I learned that it was easier to make a man my enemy and learn in time to accept him as a friend than to trust that he could be a friend at first. I wished to know a man and to see him for what he was before I gave him my trust, I admit freely that I did much the same with you Khaleesi. It was a habit that I forced upon you in an attempt to keep you safe. While I did not wish any of these men to take you from me as it were, I had more of a desire to see you safe than I had to see you in my bed and it was my fear that they would take you from me with a blade rather than a song and that I could not bear.”  
She could not think of an answer to that and simply watched him, eyes softening as they watched his.   
After a long moment in which they simply gazed at one another, in which she could feel something stirring within her as fire flared between them and she startled herself with the rush of feelings that suddenly flooded her, hastily pushing them back, putting them down to the wine she had consumed in her bedchamber and the nature of the conversation that had just flowed between them.  
She could feel his hands fumbling awkwardly around her, wanting to be closer to her but unsure all the same time, not wanting to offend her or overstep the mark.   
Impulsively, she reached out and gently brushed his cheek with her fingers, the soft tips whispering over the faint stubble that had blossomed on his cheeks, running over it, feeling as though she had run her hand through nettles, finding the prickles over her skin strangely comforting, the familiarity reassuring her and making it harder to remember that, one way or the other, at the end of this conversation, she was going to lose it, possibly forever.   
Leaning her head in towards him she allowed her forehead to brush against his, her lips so close to his she could almost taste him, remembering their first kiss, his lips pressed against hers with a kind of blind, reckless passion coupled with uncertainty as the deck of the ship swayed beneath them.   
“I am sorry.” She whispered, fingers still gently caressing his cheek, his eyes sliding down to her hand before rising back to hers, “But you know that I have no choice in this.” Her voice quaked ever so slightly as she withdrew, forcing herself to look him in the eye, hating the words that were coming out of her mouth right now but knowing that they were true,   
He betrayed me... She reminded herself. He sold my secrets to my enemies. He endangered my life and the life of my son...That is unforgiveable...He loves you...  
As if reading her mind, Jorah croaked, weakly, “Daenerys...I...I know that you feel I have betrayed you, and I will admit that I have...But if I might be so bold as to say it, I have also loved you and you must know that I would never do anything to put you in harm’s way...I am sworn to you, to protect you, to die for you, something that you know I would do.”   
“I do.” She told him, shaking her head sadly, “I know it, believe me I do, and I do not doubt it ser, not at all but...You say you love me now, and you do, I see that you do...But what you do and what you are now does not change what you did and what you were. I must have you punished for those crimes and have already told you, with too many witnesses to silence now, that I wished you gone, that I banished you and told you that it would mean your life if you returned. I cannot go back on that now, for fear of looking weak in the eyes of my advisors...And of my people...” she could see in his eyes that he understood, that he almost accepted the truth of her words and she could see the passionate fires that had burned in their depths flicker and die as he cast his eyes out across the vast city, looking away from her. “A queen belongs not to herself but to her people.” She reminded him, quoting his words back to him as she felt her throat dry up as though it had spent a week in the Red Waste as she said, “And my people demand this of me Jorah...”   
She paused, considering her next words before telling him quietly, “They say that any good a man does is forgotten in favour of the ill...I promise you, that shall not be. You saved my life, you swore yourself to me, and believed in me before I even believed in myself and yes, you did give me good counsel...” she smiled sadly, eyes drowning in his even as he was swallowed by hers, “I swear to you Ser Jorah, that I will not forget what you have done for me, and what you would have yet done.” She paused, steeling herself for what she knew must come, but what she wished never would, “But now you must go.” She stood up abruptly, turning away from him, voice cracking on the last word. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders as though suddenly cold but the rising sun had only served to warm the roof-terrace, “Go. And never think of me. Never look for me in the reflections of a pool for I will not be there. Never listen for the sound of my voice in the wind; for I cannot help you. Never whisper my name in the night looking for comfort; for you shall not find any. Pretend that you never laid eyes on me ser, I will not forget but you must. You must go from this place here and now and never think of me again.”   
“Daenerys...”he murmured, gently brushing her arm with the tips of his rough, calloused fingers, a surprisingly deft and gentle motion for such a large man, feeling her supple, porcelain skin slide beneath his touch,   
“No.” She said harshly, voice cracking like a whip and proving that the porcelain skin concealed bones of iron and blood that thrummed hot with fire. “Leave me ser.” She commanded harshly, still not able to look at him, the wind lifting her silken, silver tresses and casting them in to the air, “Leave me. And do not come back.” She fought to control herself. Telling herself that she would not break.   
You are a dragon. She informed herself forcefully. You are strong. You are stronger than them all. You are stronger than yourself. You have to be. You will be.   
“As you wish,” he told her quietly, observing an old tradition he had taught her once of the first men who had settled in Braavos that had so fascinated her and pressing his lips tenderly on her neck before withdrawing, causing every muscle in her body to contract like a drawn bowstring.   
The action was as strange as it was beautiful. It meant goodbye and goodluck, but more than that, it meant goodbye to someone that you knew would never cross your path again, often the last offering from a loved one to one who lay dying. She knew what it meant, and she knew that he knew as well.   
In that touch she felt everything that had once passed between them. His knowledge and his life being looked on by her innocent eyes. The way she had hungered for knowledge of other people, of their traditions and their customs. The way that he had filled the holes left by her turbulent childhood and did everything he could to make her life more pleasant. The fact that the books of songs he had presented her from Westeros was, aside from her silver and her dragon eggs, the bride gift that she cherished most and that she still thumbed through when she felt alone. How he had always seemed to know her and her moods and what she needed from him, before he had ever known her.   
And now she realised how she would miss the comfort that he had leant to her life now that he was gone.   
He stepped away from her as she had asked, murmuring before he left, “I promise I shall not forget you either, Khaleesi...”  
He climbed over the side of the terrace, gripping the wall with his fingers before dropping on to the raised roof below and from there to the ground, nimble without the thick plates of armour that had weighed him down in the past.   
He left her standing alone, watching the sun rise on a new day, the first of many that she would have to face without the help of her sweet old bear...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If anyone has any thoughts on this, please, let me know! I'm not sure, is it OK? Please let me know :)


	4. Once For Love and Once By Love

** Chapter 4 **

Once For Love and Once By Love

After travelling aimlessly most of the day and night with his meagre worldly possessions slung over the back of a horse, trusting only in a sense caught between dumb luck and fate and his horse’s ability to remember roads. Jorah finally decided to say enough and give the flagging beast beneath his legs a bit of respite while he took a chance to get his bearings.

The ride had not been too taxing once he had escaped the confines of Meereen. After his talk with Daenerys and her insistence that he leave he had done as he had been bid and quickly, fearing that if he lingered too long in the city he would never leave and would force Daenerys to make good on her promise of having Belwas relieve him of his head, a feat he was fairly certain the eunuch could accomplish with no more thought or effort than he gave when tearing apart the livers he was partial to.

As a consequence, he had left the city at a speed that would have implied to all those who did not know better that the hounds unleashed from all Seven Hells had been set upon him to drive him out.

Nevertheless, while he slowed their pace considerably after a few hours, realising that he had rather heedlessly plunged into the wilderness surrounding Meereen without much thought of where he was going, he had ridden for a long time and the strains were now showing on his horse.

The animal had been gifted to him by Khal Drogo after he had saved Daenerys from the poisoned wine. He had had no choice but to accept the token, unable to refuse without arousing a certain suspicion he would have preferred to avoid, and while he had maintained that he would find some way to relieve himself of the beast and the burden of guilt that accompanied it, he had inadvertently grown rather fond of the horse.

He had known enough about them to choose well enough so as not to insult Drogo. The animal was sturdy, sure-footed and calm, comfortable around the other horses and even, it soon transpired, Daenerys’ dragons, something that he was infinitely thankful for after witnessing several riders being shamefully thrown from their animals in their panic after being introduced to the foreign lizards.

Now however, he could see the thin film of sweat coming from the horse’s heaving sides and took pity in it, realising that he felt as exhausted as it looked, and led it off the worn dirt track into a little thicket of trees, instinct and some half-forgotten memory leading him to a narrow but deep pool a half mile from the road.

Once there, he swung down from the large animal and fished around in the saddlebags for a while, taking longer than was necessary and removed a long length of rope. He tied it around the thick, gnarled trunk of an old tree that had claimed the side of the deep pool beside it for its own, roots spreading out in all directions, forming a maze of writhing stems hidden beneath the thick skin of the earth preventing the growth of most everything but the dense, green moss that slithered comfortably up its side and the defiant little purple flowers that erupted at random intervals around its feet.

Once he had attached the horse to the tree he allowed it to stray a little from him, gratefully tearing up large chunks of the thick, unruly grass that sprouted in tufts beside the pool and to quench its thirst in the lake.

He slumped down in the shade of the tree and rested against it, the rough bark scratching at his tunic like so many prying fingers with rough, broken nails.

He took a moment to glance around himself, vaguely recognising his surroundings. He considered clambering up the tree to take better stock of his bearings but after glancing up at the towering, menacing old branches like long, hooked claws, he thought better of it and closed his eyes instead, trying to picture.

The image his mind presented him with initially was blurred and uncertain, like a painting that met with water before it had dried causing the colours to run in to one another making the original image uncertain. After a bit of grim coercion however he managed to draw something tangible from it and opened his eyes with a fairly good idea of where he was.

He had gone West from Meereen, something he now considered a fortunate unconscious decision and was currently in wilderness between large cities. Had he gone East he would have ended, almost certainly, in the midst of the Red Waste once more. Having braved it previously, and having watched men and horses alike drop dead in their tracks, the endless expanse of dry heat making no distinction between man or beast and simply killing them all; and he nearly joining them, he found himself with no desire to attempt it again with the only possible destination being Qarth and several other cities dotted along the coast he could barely name.

Now that he had gone West he had a few more options...

He remembered the first time he had landed on Essos and gazed out around the barbarian lands. He had lived most of his life in Westeros and of that most of it had been spent on Bear Island which was, in comparison, relatively small and isolated.

He had once told Daenerys that it had been ‘rich in trees and bears and aught else’ and found the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips in response to the painful accuracy of that statement and the altogether more painful pang of longing that resonated through his chest. With each passing day he seemed to move farther and farther from the home he so desired.

Bear Island may have been small and remote and may not have the most spectacular scenery to someone who had seen the likes of King’s Landing, Casterly Rock or the exuberant and eccentric but altogether beautiful  Qarth. But it was home and that was more than he could say about Essos.

He had been here for years now and was fairly comfortable in saying that he knew most of the lands there as well as he knew himself. He had taken work here as a sellsword and most sellswords, old or young, skilled or the equivalent of human armour, had little choice in where he found himself. He would travel with the winds, the war-cries and the bloodthirsty lords that seemed to be forever at someone’s throat, sparking wars over land and herds and, more often than not, boredom. It had served the purpose of educating him in the lands better than most.

He had studied the lands across the Narrow Sea as a child, of course, but, as he had found with most things, books only went so far and could not adequately describe something. Living counted for much more than reading in his eyes. Not to say that he disliked it but he had never found a book or even a song that had managed to capture the essence of a landscape or the rush of a battle as well as he had found it captured within himself in the moments he had experienced them for himself.

Now however, he could get most anywhere and knew much of the differing cultures and cities and even the odd little towns along the way, something that had saved his life on more than one occasion.

Far to the West and across the Narrow Sea lay Westeros and his home but it was as out of reach to him here as it would have been had he been forced to cross all Seven Hells in order to get to it. A prospect whose chances of coming to pass only seemed to be increasing by the day...

_Twice exiled._ He mused bitterly to himself as his irritable fingers tore large clumps of the delicate little violet flower that persistently sprouted around his feet, nestled in the thick folds of the trees’ roots, crushing them in his hands as he realised that the gentle little blossoms reminded him of her eyes, _Once for love and once by love..._

He turned his thoughts back to the question of where he would go now. He could not stay here. In the middle of nowhere, with the closest city one he had been banished from, he realised that he could not stay here. West was his only option. Not home. But somewhere better than this. Somewhere better than nowhere.

Volantis seemed to be the best opportunity but there were many leagues between here and there.

When he had first left Lys after Lynesse had forsaken him for the sake of a richer man he had become used to travelling alone. It had been nice to be alone. Bear Island was small and, as such places are want to do, meant that everyone lived in the pockets of everyone else, there were no secrets and there was no privacy. He had taken no small pleasure in the silence and the whispering calm that had enveloped him.

However, after a few weeks of aimlessly wandering around the wilderness, learning how to live on less and less as the dragons that had clinked happily together in his purse began to flatten dramatically, he discovered that he missed the smooth, lilting voice of his wife almost as much as he missed her soft, tender touches and began to long for some more human contact.

He had become a sellsword whilst on Lys, risking his life so that she might enjoy hers but it had never been enough for her. He had known that. Every time he returned  he expected her to have left. It shouldn’t have been a surprise when she was gone, and yet it was. 

When he had left Lys the first place he had journeyed to had been Volantis. He had found something as close to a home as he had had since leaving her, tired of living under trees and in cheap hotels, with beds more insects than sheets. He was as good a fighter as any and became known around the Free Cities and wanted by most lords allowing him to sit back and allow the river of yellow to ripple around him as his sword was fought for with words and bids, selling himself to the highest bidder and doing what he could to stay alive.

He found himself with enough money to afford the lifestyle of Volantis. He lived there for the best part of a year and enjoyed the company and the culture of the place becoming almost comfortable within the confines of the city walls.

He travelled across Essos as a hired sword, never allowing himself to settle in one place for too long, knowing where his home was and knowing that he would never find another and not even wanting to try.

He became well travelled in Essos and learned the languages and cultures of the people he encountered rapidly, finding that knowing neither was excellent encouragement to learn, eventually falling in with Khal Drogo’s khalasar that had taken him to the doorstep of Viserys Targaryen and had eventually brought him to his silver-haired dragon queen.

“Daenerys...” he murmured softly, the wind catching his word and casting it, mockingly in to the air.

He found a thick, gnarled hunk of wood that the old tree had spat from its depths and drew the dagger from his boot. Bracing the unyielding mass between his thumb and forefinger he began to draw the blade in smooth strokes across its surface.

Bear Island being as it was, full of trees and bears and aught else, most men found their sport in one or the other, either hunting or carving. He had tried and found a liking for both but had only discovered a rare talent in one.

He had not attempted to carve anything since leaving Westeros, finding that it returned too many thoughts of his home and his family, that he would, like as not, never see again and had abandoned the practice. Now however, he found a strange comfort in it. And would prefer to think on anything other than Daenerys...

Their last talk began to intrude in his mind as the coils of wood were stripped from the chunk between his hands, fingers surprisingly deft,

_“No...”He said quietly, “My ‘masters’ at King’s Landing would not have me back now...”_

_“And neither will I.”_

He began to irritably stab the point of the knife in to the wood, digging out large shapes without much notion of what he intended to create. A mess at this rate.  Much like most everything else he had heedlessly thrown himself in to without considering all of the possible consequences.

_How could I have ever known, ever even suspected what she would become...All I wanted was to be able to return home. I never thought that I would fall..._

No. No he had not expected that he would ever fall for Daenerys Targaryen, the terrified child who had approached her future husband in a way one might approach a savage, wild dog, terror in her eyes, controlled as much by that as she had been her brother and Iliyrio Mopatis. He had never looked at that child and thought that she would become what she was today.

She had grown up. She had been forced to. She had grown in to a strong, capable young woman. She had accepted him. She had given him a place in the little khalasar that she had been building, had allowed him to look after her and her children, had given him something as close to a home as he had had since he had left Bear Island all those years ago.

He had admired her. Admired her strength and her courage. Admired how far she had come, admired how far she was no doubt going to go. And that admiration had festered away in a deep part of him he thought had died when Lynesse had left him, it had kindled flames he had long ago thought turned to ash and he had found himself in love once more. With Daenerys Targaryen nonetheless. Mother of Dragons. Breaker of Chains. And rightful heir to the Iron Throne. A Khaleesi. A Queen. His queen. Though no more...

He closed his eyes and grimaced. When he had married Lynesse he had married above his birth, he had known that, they all had, no more so than when he had taken her home. But this. This was something else entirely.

Unbidden, he found his thoughts wandering back to the time when he had kissed her. Alone together in the dingy cabin on the ship, floor rocking beneath them, the lantern that was strung from the ceiling bathing the cabin in a dull, yellow glow, only serving to make her more beautiful in his eyes.

It had been madness that had seized him then. But he had loved her for too long and had done too little about it and no longer cared about the consequences, sick of living in limbo and treading on knives.

He wondered now what would have become of them had he not kissed her...

_Much the same thing as has happened now..._ He thought, bitterly, _You made your choices long ago...Ironically enough, that was one of your better ones..._

He turned back to the little carving in his hands, deft blade still seeking out shapes his hands had not seen fit to share with his head quite yet. But however hard he tried, he could not banish the image of Daenerys Targaryen from his mind.

Her face still swam before him, her eyes still consumed his, her voice still the only thing he could hear in the deafening silence of his solitude, her touch still played across his skin, her lips still brushed against his.

He closed his eyes and resisted the urge to run his hands over them, too afraid that he would pry them out with the dagger that was still clutched in his hands, that being easier than continuing in this vein, finding something everywhere that reminded him of his sliver queen.

No. Not his. Never his...

_“I will not have you near me. You are banished ser.”_

His muscles tensed as her bitter voice flooded his ears once more. He tried to focus on the carving in his hands but to no avail. She had him trapped. Backed in to a corner. From miles away, she still ruled him.

_“Do not ever presume to touch me again, or to speak my name.”_

He shuddered involuntarily, feeling the flat of the blade press against his burning skin, harshly cold. He could see the pain that had lurked in her eyes, he could _feel_ the pain that was coursing through her as she stared down at him. And for the first time in his life, Jorah Mormont considered the possibility that he was actually going mad.

_“Remove this liar from my sight.”_

She may as well have slapped him across the face. His eyes snapped open once more as a sharp pain burned through his hand. Looking down he saw a river of red coursing from his thumb, the dagger having slipped and shorn a thick hunk of skin from it, baring the tender, raw flesh below.

At least that gave him something to think about other than Daenerys. He had dropped the knife, it lay sprawled in the thick, tough dark grass that grew in stubborn clumps around him, the faint flush of red that had crept up one side of the blade standing out in stark contrast to the dull, colourless world he had descended in to.

Cursing, he used the blade to cut a strip from one of the blankets that bound his pack together and bound it around his hand.

Curiously, he retrieved the little carving that had insistently continued to take shape as he had brooded. It was drenched in his blood and so he carried it to a small stream that burbled behind him and fed the deep pool at his back and allowed the blood to run from it, blossoming in the cool liquid pooling around his feet like ink drops spilt in water before being swept away by the persistent current.

Withdrawing it he found a cruel smile grimly twist his mouth as he beheld the strange likeness of a little dragon. His fingers delicately traced the curve of the high, arched wing, the snapping mouth, the hooked claws that seemed to curl around his hand.

It was then he made his choice.

Returning to the pool he lashed his meagre supplies to the horse and swung on to its back. He tossed the little dragon carving in to the lake and was already gone before it struck the water, sinking slowly and forlornly to the bottom of the pool, lost and forgotten, trapped amongst a tangle of thick green reeds as he made his way from it and back on to the road...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little warning of the road ahead if you don't mind :) I'm going to follow Jorah alone for the next few chapters that will deal with the gap between ASOS and ADWD, once I reach the end of ADWD (if this gets that far!) I'll pick up with Daenerys again and alternate their chapters so there will be spoilers after the next few chapters :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed, if you have a moment, I'd love to hear what you thought :)


	5. Drowning Pool

** Chapter 5 **

****

  
**  
**Drowning Pool

 

He had managed to finally pick his way out of the dense forest. The complex natural maze of trees had proved a challenge, despite his memory and his horse’s instincts. He was fortunate for his roots in Bear Island then and put it down to a combination of knowledge that had been acquired when he had been no more than a babe on the breast and sheer luck that he was able to escape the confines of the gnarled cemetery of roots.

He understood now why the towering oasis behind him was known as the Haunted Forest. The first night he had spent there had been one of the most uncomfortable and unpleasant of his life. The towering pines around him had branches stripped bare of needles by ferocious winds that made the swaying boughs howl and creek in agony.

But he had found that the worst thing had not been the screaming trees or the shrieking wind. It had been the stillness. Because despite the raging gusts that tore furiously through the aged trunks around him, the forest was hollow and empty. He was used to forests that hummed with life, birds nesting in trees, deer trimming grass in empty clearings and packs of wolves skulking between the branches. Once, he had glimpsed a pair of fell, yellow eyes glinting at him through the gloom, but when he had gone to investigate the source of them, they had winked out, and he could find no trail or trace of the beast that had caused them.

He had found more than screams in the whisper of the wind though, and had sworn he could hear Daenerys’ voice being carried to him, as clear as the day, where he lay uncomfortably in the shade of a large tree.

His horse had been uncomfortable as he had been. The large animal was usually placid and controlled but in this place, he could see the whites of its eyes and no gentle touch or soft word could calm it. After it had bolted through the trees for a second time, he had hobbled it and blindfolded it, attempting to calm it. He had allowed his long fingers to tangle absently through its mane, feeling the animal’s sides heaving by him, sweat glistening on its flanks, despite the chill wind.

Finally, he had drifted in to an uneasy sleep, shifting uncomfortably against the rough bark of the towering tree at his back, not feeling nearly as comfortable by his surroundings as he aught, and thinking he knew why.

_He walked quietly through the forest. Sword at his side, its ever-present weight reassuring on his hip. Snow drifted gently from the heavens, the skies a sea of dense white, smothering him, and trapping him in the world he had fallen in to._

_His boots crunched over the new snow and whenever he caught the still dry leaves or twigs that littered the uneven ground beneath his feet. He felt comfortable and secure here, wherever here was, though his feet seemed to have a destination that his mind had not agreed to. And yet still he followed their directions heedlessly._

_The snow continued to tumble down around him, catching in his hair and clinging to his eyelashes, settling on his skin and freezing him, yet he could not feel the cold._

_Lying peacefully in the crisp white blanket before him was a single dash of fallen red, scarlet and in stark contrast to the vista that claimed the colour of the world settling and swirling around him. He approached it and knelt, taking it deftly between his fingers, surprisingly tender for a man of his size._

_A single petal from a flower lay held between his hands, smooth as silk, supple as water. He allowed the wind to snatch it from him, seizing it and spiriting it away into the gloom that pressed in around him._

_He noted another lying ahead. Like a drop of blood, burning through the empty void around him, drawing him to it._

_He followed the crimson trail to the edge of a dense knot of trees, shielding whatever lay beyond them from his view._

_Before him lay a single red rose, blood red, like the petals it had cast before it._

_He picked it up and held it between his hands as one may hold a dagger, or a sword if they were  offering another their fealty. He tried to avoid the lethal thorns that twisted up its side but still felt the cold bite of one in his skin._

_He hissed, but did not allow himself to drop the flower._

_Soft drops of his blood wept from his palm and landed in the snow around him, burning it in the gloom, the scarlet screaming up at him from where it fell._

_His blood pooled on to the rose in his hands, staining the black stem a deep red as well as the petals that twisted around its heart. The rose’s kiss was one of steel, cold and harsh and unyielding, but as his blood flowed over it, he felt it change._

_He flinched as it glowed red hot, a strange corruption spread from the point at which his blood touched it, spreading along the stem and to the flowers above, causing them to turn from a deep blue, to a sensual indigo, to a warm purple, to inky black. The soft, supple silk that had caressed his skin only a moment ago dissolved, turning to thick, smoking ash that whispered away in the breeze that seized it, leaving nothing behind._

_He glanced up again, fingers closing around the remnants of the rose and looked in to the veil of trees beyond. His body once again making a decision that his head was not aware of, he began to move towards the little thicket of trees and what lay ahead. He noted now that his footsteps made no sound and no trace in the snow where he walked._

_He found himself emerging on the far bank of a large, deep black pool. The surface was mirror smooth, undisturbed and uninterrupted. He could not guess at depth. The water looked as though an ink-pot had been emptied in to it, dying its contents with an unrecognisable, impenetrable darkness. He could feel his clothes being upset by a faint wind that whispered through the trees but still the water before him refused to stir._

_He paused. His heart began pulsing. His skin became clamy. His fingers closed around empty air. Every muscle in his body tensed, like an archer’s bowstring as it was drawn, ready to send the first deadly shower of a battle. Eyes drawn to a certain spot in the very centre of the lake._

_A pulsing ripple had began without warning, as though he had thrown a stone in to it, just as the wind died around him. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to find someone else but the darkness pressed around him like a disease that had slipped beneath his skin and consumed him. Alone in the black as the snow continued to fall._

_He turned back to the pool before him and watched as a slender figure slipped from the centre of the lake, completely naked, marble skin standing out against the black water that pulsed around it, its outline blurred and uncertain as the rivers of water swept from it._

_A sheet of soft, silken blonde hair drifted down the figures shoulders, shrouding it in a veil of faint protection that covered the supple skin that clung to their slight frame._

_The figure turned and he felt his breath catch in his throat in recognition._

_“Lynesse?” he asked in disbelief, the word catching in his throat that seemed to have filled with the ash rose he had clenched in his fist, causing the words to become choked and uncertain._

_She figure smiled. All parts of her body were dulled and unexaggerated excepting her lips. Full and lush and a deep, inviting ruby red that called to him._

_“Jorah, my love.” She whispered, her voice husky and humming with barely controlled lust._

_“Lynesse.” He murmured again, the word falling from his lips as a statement rather than a question this time, his eyes drinking her in, finding every curve and contour of her body to be as he had remembered._

_“Come to me Jorah, my love.” She murmured, a long, skeletal finger extending towards him, beckoning._

_He stepped down in to the pool, the icy water lapping around him as he made his way towards her again, her lips curving in to another sultry smile in response to his approach._

_As he reached her and placed a hand against her cool skin, she turned away from him, withdrawing, leaving his fingers brushing against empty space._

_The water around him began to boil and bubble, thick smoke drifting up from its surface as its icy kiss turned in to a fiery hold._

_The curtain of sweeping, silver-blond hair shifted once again as she turned back to him, but this time, it was not Lynesse’s scarlet lips that greeted him but the pulsing, violet eyes of another._

_“Daenerys.” He murmured, his words curving around the word as comfortably as his hand curled around the hilt of a sword,_

_Her face split in to a sweet smile that brightened her already glowing features._

_“Jorah.” She said, voice supple and silken, flowing over his ears like honey. She reached up and gently brushed her cheek with the back of her hand, “My bear. My sweet bear.”_

_Her eyes called to him, smiling more than her delicate lips._

_Her hand slid down the back of his neck and he felt his own wrapping around her waist, tangling in her silky hair and pulling her closer to him, pressing her against him, and all the while her eyes never left his._

_She leant in to him and pressed her lips against his, running her fingers through his hair as she died. He could feel her pressed against her, the cool water of the lake still dripping from her skin, sinking in to his clothes. He didn’t care. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her. Living for her touch. For her breath. For her skin on his. For her lips on his. For her._

_She pulled away. A different smile on her lips. Cruel and twisted._

_Her lips trailed kisses down his neck and brushed his lips again before she withdrew and whispered with a poisonous smile,_

_“This is what betrayal tastes like.”_

_He only had a moment to think about what she had said before he was dragged beneath the black waters._

_He choked and thrashed against the chilling grip of the lake around him that reached in to his throat and throttled him. He could still see her before him, standing above him, watching him drown._

_He closed his eyes as he struggled against the invisible bonds that trapped him beneath the calm pool._

_When he opened them again, Daenerys was gone but the gleaming yellow eyes that had haunted him in the darkness before were looming in front of him._

He woke up then. Sucking in a deep breath that pulsed and rattled through his chest, causing a ripple to run through him, his muscles tensing as he struggled to control his ragged breathing. Sweat clung to his skin, causing the light, cheesecloth sticking to his feverish flesh.

He forced himself to control his breathing, sitting up and bracing himself against his knee, running a hand through his hair, eyes closed, struggling to control himself.

He glanced out in to the gloom, the pair of haunted eyes leering at him in the darkness, but when next he blinked, they vanished, swallowed in to the night once more. A shiver ran the length of his spine as he felt eyes he could not see watching him, causing his skin to crawl.

He packed up the makeshift little camp he had thrown together when he had decided that he could not spend another night in the saddle, and had prepared the horse. As he swung on to the animal’s back he placed a reassuring hand on its neck, murmuring gently, voice rasping over a strangled throat, trying to calm himself as much as the frightened horse. He could feel it’s terror, it’s wide eyes rolling in their sockets, the faint rim of white standing out amongst the deep brown, despite the spider’s web of veins that stood out in them. Red on white.

He remembered the red rose fallen in the thick white snow and shook the image from his mind, digging his heels in to the horse’s sides and heading off in to the darkness.

It was foolish, of that he had no doubt. The last few nights had leant themselves to riding as he had the moon and stars to guide him through the treacherous forest. Tonight, if there was a moon overhead, the thick canopy of branches above his head meant that it refused to cast any light on his path. One protruding branch and his horse would fall, breaking its leg and potentially his neck, but he had been unwilling to linger in that place.

He snorted as he thought of the counsel he would have given Daenerys had she voiced that opinion. He would have told her that she was  being a superstitious old fishwife...Though perhaps, if they had been in this place, he might have held his tongue on that matter...

There was an old saying in the villages nearby that said only desperate men rode through the Haunted Forest by night. Coupled by the grim admonishment that only dead men slept by night...Jorah would rather be foolish and desperate than cautious and dead. His life still had some value, little as it was at that moment. The dream had told him that much at least...

Every child in the North was told of the Children of the Forest and Jorah had been no different. It had been said that these children could see the future in their dreams, that they had what the northerners called the ‘greensight’. He shrugged them off as foolish notions. Stories told for children. And yet. And yet...

He forced his thoughts back to the matter at hand, getting through this forest without being thrown from his horse. The animal was intelligent and obedient, Drogo’s gift had reflected the value he had placed upon his khaleesi, upon the moon of his life and as such, was no mean thing. The Dothraki were not called ‘horselords’ merely because they favoured the beasts in war, they were named thusly because no-one could hope to know or ride a horse like the Dothraki. Jorah had travelled with them for long enough to respect both them and the animals they bred.

The horse was sure-footed, generally calm, and possessed instincts he would have thought impossible had he not experienced them himself. Nevertheless, the ground was treacherous, and the long roots of the trees that towered around him sent tendrils stretching through the ground, cracking through it in places and exposing themselves as coiled, snatching fingers that lingered silently, grapsing at the horse’s legs as they passed.

It took him several hours and left him exhausted by the end, but as the dense foliage grew thinner and the thick tree trunks began to become slimmer as he, at last, reached the outskirts of the forest he found that the knot around his chest loosened somewhat and his lungs once more remembered how to claim the air around them for their own, rather than begging for every whisper as they had done since he had risen.

He had been so intent on finding a way out of the forest, any way out, that he had not concentrated on which direction he had been headed. A quick scout around the area the forest had spat him out in to revealed that had had, miraculously, gone the right way.

He drew the frightened horse away from the edge of the forest, the boughs of the trees creaking innocently behind him as he firmly turned his back on them.

He found a pool nearby and allowed his horse to drink deeply from it as he pulled a map from his saddlebags and struggled to read it in the weak half-light as the sun attempted to force itself above the horizon.

He traced the rough line he had taken from Meereen with a calloused finger. He found himself soon enough and considered his next move. Volantis was the obvious choice but he had never taken well to large citites...His finger followed the river North and found Selhorys. He cast his mind back and picked out what scattered memories he had of Selhorys. Most of them were fairly positive. He decided that it was something to aim for. It was a purpose at the very least. It meant that he would be moving towards something and not simply away from someone.

He considered the lands that still lay before him. He could either attempt to trek through the mountainous regions that lay directly West. Follow the Northern edge of Slaver’s Bay for as long as he could before being forced up in to the mountains. Or, he could head North a ways and journey through the Dothraki Sea instead....

There were good and bad points to both plan he mused as he traced the routes he would take. The journey through the mountains would be perilous, and he would almost certainly not meet another soul, meaning that if he ran short on provisions, it would most likely mean his death.

On the other hand, not meeting another soul seemed ideal compared with what could await him in the Dothraki Sea. The warring fragments of Drogo’s khalasar still raged through it. Running shy of provisions would be the least of his worries if he ventured there. The best he could hope for was a quick death. An arakh across the throat, neatly relieving his shoulders of his head. The worst, meant being enslaved by the Dothraki. Not a prospect that struck him as being desirable.

He decided that it would be the mountains then. He was no stranger to cold and high altitudes. It went with the territory of being from the North. Not for the first time, he wondered how much of the North was left in him. It had been so long since he had called it his home.

_Home is not where a man’s person resides, but where his heart belongs._

His father had told him that when he had left for The Wall. He tried to convince himself that it was true but every day the words became  more  and more hollow to him and held less truth and more emptiness, falling on his head as just words rather than upon his heart as a sentiment...

He would see his home once more. He still belonged in Bear Island. He still wanted to be on Bear Island. One day...

But not this day. This day he had to remember how to survive on his own once more, something he had grown accustomed to following his exile by Lynesse. He had always been solitary. And he had revelled in it. Freedom he had called it to begin with. Now he would give all the freedom in the world to be sworn to Daenerys once more.

No. He would not think of her any more either. Was that not what she had commanded him to do?

_But she is not your queen anymore._

Snarling and frustrated, he pointedly opened the map out once more and began to plot his route to Selhorys.

He could follow Slaver’s Bay until he found a suitable little village to stock up in. And then...Well then he would find out how much of the North remained to him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Leave a review if you can! :)


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